Slytherins are Flirty, Sherlock is Not
by EnamoredWithSherlolly
Summary: Prompt from Tumblr: Sherlock gets jealous when a certain Dean begins flirting with Molly... (superlock, potter!lock)
1. Chapter 1

"Oh my god, look. Some bloke's talking to Molly." John nudged his best friend in the side, watching as a Slytherin casually walked up to her, tapping her on the shoulder. She had wanted to hang out with her friend Meena today, so they weren't together as they usually were.

Sherlock's nose remained firmly stuck in his book. He 'hmm'ed in agreement.

"She's blushing and _laughing_." John noted in horror.

Sherlock's head snapped up, his crystal blue-green eyes taking in the scene in front of him.

The boy's bent down near hers as she talked, his black and green robes brushing hers as he walked beside her, and most damnably, the unmistakable red of her cheeks as her eyes twinkled at him.

"I guess she's stopped having a crush on you. Had to move on some time, I suppose. You never did give her the time of day, yeah?"

"Shut up, John." Sherlock snapped his book shut, taking long strides forward until he caught up with the trio, shoving himself between the insolent Slytherin and Molly as he shot forward, leveling a glare at the green-robed boy.

He didn't turn around when he heard Molly's books scatter over the floor, and he didn't turn around when he felt a prickling at the nape of his neck, knowing it was her gaze on him.

The next day, Molly confronted him about it in Advanced Arithmancy, slamming her books down onto his desk, hands on her hips.

"Sherlock, what was yesterday about?"

He flipped a page of _Fifteenth Century Fiends_, another book he had "borrowed" from the restricted section. The material they were learning was too simple.

Seeing him pointedly ignoring her, she grabbed his book.

"Sherlock, answer the question."

He picked up his quill, taking out a piece of parchment and beginning to scribble notes on it for the next experiment he was going to conduct.

She gave a growl of frustration, and after practically tossing the book at him, returned to her seat up front.

Fine. If he wanted to talk, then he would have to talk to her first.

* * *

Over the next few days, they maintained a strained silence, and Molly began spending less time with the two. She instead hung out with Meena and "that self-absorbed prat," as Sherlock called him.

Dean (as John came to know) was actually quite nice for someone in Slytherin. A little prideful, yes (he seemed to be quite popular, with classical good looks), but from what he could see, the guy treated Molly quite nicely, opening doors for her, introducing her to his friends (Sam and Crowley, also all in Slytherin), and protecting her from the hurtful comments of other Slytherins.

He heard one of the Slytherins got strung up by his robes on the bridge after calling her mudblood (not even to her face. He and Sherlock had Care of Magical Creatures with the guy, and some other Slytherin made a nasty comment. A day later, the girl was in the hospital ward, blathering about being permanently traumatized to Madam Pomfrey.

A week later, Molly and Sherlock still hadn't reconciled, and John was beginning to grow a little worried. They'd never been angry at each other for this long before, and Sherlock's mood was growing worse by the day.

John was quite observant when he wanted to be, but he would never tell Sherlock his what he noticed. Like for example how Sherlock had ripped up one of his textbooks after seeing Dean and Molly hug in the halls. Or how he had nearly singed off everyone's eyebrows with his potion (an almost suspicious excess of Exploding Ginger Eyelash) upon seeing Dean brush an Asphodel petal off her cheek.

It had been a trying week.

And he knew it could only get worse when Molly came to find him in the Gryffindor common room (having been let in by Meena), hesitantly approaching the table he was studying at.

"Hey, Molly!" he greeted her, glad she wasn't ignoring him too.

"Hi, John." She gave a little smile and pulled out the chair opposite, sitting down. Her hands wrung together.

"Uh, so what brings you here?"

"Oh, uh," she looked around, "I just wanted to visit you…and ask you a question," she appended when he raised an eyebrow. They had been friends for almost 5 years now. He knew her better than that.

"Ok," she began slowly, taking a deep breath. After a moment, she decided to switch chairs, instead taking the one next to him.

"Um, Dean asked me out," she told him in a whisper.

"Oh! That's great!" John nodded. This didn't bode well for Sherlock's temper. He had already acted out no less than 23 times in the last week, ranting that Molly was an idiot and he wouldn't save her if she couldn't figure it out by herself. Ravenclaw tower had not seen peace in seven days.

"But…I wanted to ask you, um, " she tucked a strand of her chestnut hair that had fallen from her ponytail behind her ear.

"DoyouthinkIhaveachancewithSherlock?" she blurted out all at once. She had confided in him several times before, and he had become one of her best listeners.

Seeing him ponder the question, she fidgeted in her chair.

"Dean's really nice, you know, and I really like him as a person. He treats me so well, better than Sherlock ever has, though I don't fault him for it. That's just who he is, but recently I've begun to wonder if I should just move on because I just can't, I just…"

John laid a hand on her arm. He carefully considered his answer.

"I know Sherlock cares about you as a friend. Maybe more. I'm not sure. But it wouldn't hurt, I suppose." He shrugged. It was for the best, probably.

Her frame visibly relaxing, Molly gave a slight nod, reassured.

"Thank you," she told him simply, and then was gone.

Well, there wasn't any way he was getting more work done tonight. John picked up his books, heading back to the dormitory. Tomorrow was probably going to be a _very_ long day.

He nearly jumped when he saw a skinny, blue-robed boy reclining on his bed, eyes closed and hands steepled under his chin.

Sherlock's eyes snapped open at his presence, the stormy depths unfathomable. He shot off the bed, striding straight up to John, staring accusingly down at him.

"Why did you tell her to go out with him?"

John froze a second.

"What…wait, how did you know that?"

"Spare me the stupidity. _Why did you tell her to go out with him?_"

John glared back at his best friend.

"I didn't. I simply told her it wouldn't hurt."

"You _idiot_. She's going to spend all her time with that blithering _fool_, so who's going to help me with my experiments? You're - "

"Why don't you just be honest with yourself and admit that you miss her," John interrupted, his temper rising. "You're so selfish. YOU'RE probably the reason why she likes him in the first place!"

"What are you suggesting?" Sherlock hissed, his eyes narrowing.

"You never treat her with any respect, bossing her around like she's your assistant when you know bloody damn well she's one of the smartest students here. No offense," he gestured to the other Gryffindor students getting ready for bed, trying to ignore their conversation.

Sherlock had no such tact.

"She likes it. We have a mutually beneficial relationship in which she helps me with my experiments, and I spend time with her."

John scoffed.

"Is that why she wants to go out with Dean?" He pushed past his friend, setting his books on the bedside table and shrugging out of his robes. "Good luck, Sherlock. You like her, but you've dug yourself so deep into denial I doubt you're ever going to crawl out. Admit it. You're jealous of Dean. He's got her laughing and enjoying his company like you never could." He climbed into bed. "I hope your lack of sentiment keeps you company at night because Molly won't be a fool for you much longer, and I hope you're prepared for the day when she sees who for who you really are: a selfish, hopeless prick."

He pulled the covers up, ignoring the boy who stood frozen there in the center of the room, heart pumping hard from what he would later recognize as the first time he felt fear.


	2. Chapter 2

"Molly..." A gangly boy slowly migrated toward her (History of Magic was their first morning class, and coincidentally one they had together).

Meena stopped talking, staring at the curly haired boy in front of their desks, forcing Molly to look at him.

He didn't look well. Bags under his eyes, face sallow, no spark in his normally crystal clear eyes. She was tempted to herd him to the nurse. But she wouldn't.

"Yes, Sherlock?" she replied, her voice as emotionless as she could muster.

"I wanted to..." he began, voice low and terse. When suddenly a dirty blonde walked...no, strutted into the room, his eyes immediately lighting on Molly.

"Molly!" Dean half jogged to the front of the room, his candy green eyes glancing at Sherlock for barely a second before dismissing him. "How did you sleep last night?" He plucked a strand of hair out of her ponytail, ignoring her protests, and wrapped it around his finger, playing with it. Teasing her. Sherlock's hands clenched into fists.

The smile that evaded Sherlock was now easily given to Dean.

"Alright. It was kind of cold though," she told him, her hands on still attempting to pry his away from her hair.

Dean leaned closer to her ear, a crooked smile on his goddamned perfectly chiseled face.

"If you would've let me in yesterday, I could have warmed you up," his baritone rumbled in her ear.

Sherlock's vision began to go slightly hazy. He sucked in an angry breath. She was ignoring him for this _git_.

"Molly." This time his voice was much louder. They turned to look at him, Molly's gaze slightly wary, "Your standards must be incredibly low if you've taken to hanging out with persons of this caliber. I thought after your _stint_ with the other Slytherin boy you would have learned better. Don't come crawling back to me when your heart gets broken again," he lashed out at her, his own heart pounding loudly against his chest, almost painfully.

Unable to face the scene any longer, he turned around, walking back to his own desk.

He refused to examine the flash of pain in her eyes and how it correlated to the jagged shard in his heart. He didn't need to see it because it was imprinted into his mind palace.

"I'm sorry you feel that way," she said softly, and his shoulders stiffened.

Back at his desk, a rush of nauseating cold swept over him. "I'm sorry. That wasn't what I meant to say," he whispered.

But no one heard him.

* * *

"He treats you really well, doesn't he?" Meena leaned over Molly's bed, plucking another chocolate frog from the huge stack on her bedside table and popping it into her mouth.

"Yeah," Molly replied softly, knees tucked against her chest.

Meena swallowed, quickly wrapping her arms around her best friend.

"I'm sorry Sherlock's a douche," she consoled her, "but you always knew that, didn't you? Just...it'll get easier with time. I promise." She rested her head on Molly's knees, her hazel eyes full of pity.

"Thank you." Molly reached out to grasp her hands, finding comfort in their warmth.

Meena immediately grinned again.

"And besides, if your bedside table is anything to go by," she surveyed the vast floral arrangement by Molly's bed, "that Dean is hooked. Who'd have ever thunk a Hufflepuff would snag a Slytherin?" She pinched Molly's cheeks, laughing.

"Yeah, who would have thought?" Molly's eyes rested on the flowers.

"The flowers are kind of strange, though, aren't they? No roses...he still needs some work. What's this one?" Meena pointed to a large purple, pinkish flower with small yellow buds inside.

"A Zinnia," Molly answered.

"Wow. That guy has a big vocabulary if he knows such a strange flower." Meena whistled in appreciation. "He's a keeper. You should thank him when we go to Hogsmeade together tomorrow."

"Yeah."

Molly's gaze carefully caressed the glass vase full of purple and yellow hyacinths, geraniums, hydrangeas, and asphodels. And a single stalk of lilac, tucked away beneath the other large flowers, almost hidden from view.

Meena was right. The arrangement would be strange coming from a boy chasing her. And it would be strange coming from a common eighteen year old boy who probably wouldn't take the time to research in-depth about flower meanings.

But Meena was also wrong. Because the arrangement wasn't strange at all.

* * *

"Are you alright?" Dean's voice shook Molly from her thoughts.

"Hmm? Oh, yeah," she smiled at the boy next to her who had ditched his robes in favor of a leather jacket and jeans. Rumor had it he could _kill _dementors though, so she supposed that was why the administration allowed it. It was weird having someone of such considerable influence liking her.

"You don't look like it."

"Really, I'm fine," she convinced him.

"Okayyyy," he dragged out the word, still not quite believing her. He tucked her into his shoulder, his eyes gesturing at Sam and Crowley to leave. They took the hint, grabbing Meena as well. "You wanna head over to Madam Puddifoot's?"

She looked ahead at the small tea shop, with its steamy windows and promises of young love.

"Sure," she said, trying to imbue some enthusiasm into her voice.

* * *

On the other side of the street, Sherlock paced along in the snow, little white flecks sticking to the bottom of his robes. He ruffled his hair, frustrated, as John looked on from a large stone, providing commentary, hoping to goad his friend into action.

"Oh, he has his arm around her."

"He just whispered in her ear."

"They're heading to Madam Puddifoot's."

But despite Sherlock's obvious irritation, he continued to pace in place, looking up occasionally to ascertain their location.

John finally rolled his eyes.

"Look, just go up and tell her you're sorry."

Sherlock paused, looking at John in frustration, the wand in his hand emitting little sparks. John kept his eyes cautiously on his wand. Didn't want a repeat of the last incident. The last thing he needed was to become a toad again.

"John, don't you see? I can't. She would be with that _git_ and I would lose my temper and shout at her again."

"Well..." John glanced over his shoulder at the couple disappearing into the frilly, pink tea shop. "If you don't, she's gonna become someone's girlfriend quite - "

Sherlock was gone before he could finish the sentence.

* * *

"Molly!" Sherlock's gaze shot around the shop, passing over lovesick couples and alighting upon a little huddled form near the back.

He started out toward her, nearly knocking over several tables' teacups in his haste to reach her, causing people to grumble.

She looked up at her name, gaze wavering when she saw him. He was by her table in an instant.

"Molly, I - "

She shook her head. His heart dropped.

"I can't hear you, Sherlock." It fluttered, coming back to life.

He quickly pulled out his wand.

"QUIETUS!"

The shop went dead silent. Some couples glared at him while others watched on in amusement. Sherlock Holmes was always causing the most amusing trouble.

"Molly, I'm sorry. Please forgive me," he rushed out, "I've never liked anyone before, and when I discovered someone else was going to take you away, I panicked. I felt _fear_, Molly, unlike I've ever felt before." He wrapped his gangly arms around her, pulling her into an awkward embrace. "I _need you_, Molly, and I hope you can find it in yourself to forgive me because otherwise..." he choked up.

Molly gently pushed him away.

"I'd already forgiven you when you sent me the flowers." A peck landed softly on his lips.

He closed his eyes, muttering "thank god," under his breath, and pulling her tightly against him, his cheek nestled in her hair.

"Okay, can you cut the crap now?" They were interrupted by a low rumble. Molly and Sherlock looked over at the boy in the leather jacket leaning against the counter who was gesturing to the crowd of spectators.

Seeing the flash of surprise in Sherlock's eyes, Dean rolled his own.

"Yeah, because a _quieting _charm can shut me up. Molly, this door is always open if that dolt treats you badly." He gestured to himself.

"I'm sorry." She looked at him, her expression apologetic.

He picked his way to the door, spine straight and shoulders deceptively relaxed, doing a two-fingered wave back at them, never looking back.

Outside, John watched the boy sigh as he came out the door, his shoulders hunching as he slowly headed back toward Hogwarts. Poor fool.

Back inside, Sherlock quickly undid the charm with a wave of his wand.

"I won't ever do this again," he promised, his arms still around her, enveloping her in his warmth. "I love you," he added softly, hoping she wouldn't hear at the same time he wished she would.

"I love you too."

Her arms wrapped tightly around him, she breathed in the scent of happiness.


End file.
